Kismet
by Grand Phoenix
Summary: Take my hand, and let us go to the place where we shall become free. Of Nevril, war, the Emerald Ri Maajon, and fate. Amuria-centric. Pre-series with manga themes.


**Disclaimer :** All characters and places belong to whoever made them, ©2006. If you do know, please answer in a review.

_A/N: Not much to say other than this is my first Simoun fic. Some facts may not match up with the canon or manga, since it's been some time when I last saw the anime in full, but overall I think I did a pretty good job on this._

_The line, 'Oh, summer! Oh, nature!' is a reference to a short story I read in English class called "Fly-Fishing for Doctors" by Ethan Canin. Quite frankly it gave me the idea to type out "Kismet"._

_So please enjoy; concrit is always welcome._

* * *

**Kismet**

* * *

_"Every one is the architect of his own fortune."_  
-- Mathurin Regnier

* * *

The world is my oyster, and what a wide world it is.

The sky is at its most bluest, the purest color I've ever looked upon in all my sixteen years. Look at how the shades blend with one another, how right the sun sits in its heavenly throne and warms the cold earth in its all-consuming light.

Embrace me, for I am loved. Embrace me, for I give myself to you.

The wind breathes on carpet green, waves rolling in repose. Wayward cherry blossoms drift into view, carried onward to the Holy Sea and beyond human reach. Into space, into time, into some subterranean city untouched by war and death, it didn't matter. Flowers were flowers with no sense of direction but a potluck of freedom, simply meant to fly with their metaphorical wings spread forth and the Breath of Tempus Spatium at their backs.

Oh, summer! Oh, nature!

I watch the petals dot the floor in all their lack-baid glory, feather-light kisses breasting the contours of my body, a temple laying among the hills bordering on aesthetic rapture. A few scant fellows decide to bed along the valleys of my chest, rising and falling to a gentle, rhythmic beating. Dazedly I hold them in my gaze, then, with my fingers, I pluck one and bring it close to my face.

It is a delicate little thing, so small I fear crushing it. A vibrant pink hue emblazons the foliole and traces of white can be seen along its underside. The smooth, velvety surface brings me great comfort in this cruel, unforgiving world.

The petal reminds me of someone very close and precious to me. A girl with rose-colored hair and cosmic blue eyes. . . .

No, I correct myself, she is more than just a girl. She is a woman, an angel brought down from heaven. She is the angel whom blesses the faithful in homely villages and poverty-stricken hamlets located far from death and bloodshed. She is the heart that binds Chor Tempest, a leader riding atop the Simoun, Chariots of the Gods, soaring into battle.

I realized over time she was everything I wanted in a potential lover: someone strong, someone confident, someone who, after a long and tiring day at the daily grind, comes home to the confines of her chamber and fits perfectly into the arms of her companion. It's a statement that contradicts the popular beliefs that I would be more compatible to an equally rowdy thrill-seeker (me being that thrill-seeker is enough!). As a matter of fact, I never did give much thought to who I would spend the rest of my life with. With the war going into full swing and night patrols on the rise, I've hardly had time to sit down and think about it.

Even so, there is a hole in me. The hole is in the part of me that wants to learn what love is. What does it mean to me? What is it like? How do I express it and how do I proclaim it? Do I say what is in my mind or in my heart? Or do I take action and press myself onto those luscious red lips, holding her close to a pounding drum ready to burst from my chest? . . . Not that I've ever _done it_ before, but when desperate times call for desperate measures. . .

Tempus Spatium, was I a nervous wreck! When we first met out on the _Arcus Prima's_ docking bay I drew a blank line. All the things I wanted to say and ask her vanished into thin air. Everything I knew about myself, from my history on Chor Tempest to my own name, upped and left me. I mean, she was the Chairman's daughter! She was the apple of his eye and I was. . . well, I'm not the most important person in the social hierarchy. I was a desert flower growing in the wild prairies, willingly drafted into a battle rekindled in a lust of greed and power.

It's terrible. Nations fight to steal away the Simoun for their own personal gain. Their governments are in turmoil and revolts break out amongst dissatisfied peoples. One thought that's bothered me through my years in flight training was how in Hell the Simoun were going to solve their problems. They were Chariots, machines (though I dare not say it aloud); what were they going to do with them? They would increase their military strength, but would it really stop the insurrections? Would martial law really give them peace of mind?

Even as I lay here with the petal between my fingers, even as I think back on those quiet nights, staring at the ceiling and dreaming of eternally blue horizons, I believe that it wouldn't solve anything. Power is essential, power is a tool, but it is horrible if placed in the wrong hands. When I look back on the tragedies that took place on our land and beyond the Seas, attacks which have scarred cities and dashed the lives of many innocents, I can only frown and shake my head. Was this how we, the children of Daikuuriku, the children of Tempus Spatium, came to be? Is this what we were meant to do? To kill and to maim our brothers and sisters in the name of power and glory?

We never asked for this to happen. We didn't want bad blood to taint the relationship we had between Argentum and Plumbum, but it did. They wanted more than poverty and chaos. They wanted the power denied by our theocracy. They struck. They crippled our country and we struck back.

It hurt. It hurt us that we had to make do with war. Peace negotiations would never calm the ire in their hearts, so force was decided with no other choice.

But the pain is honest, imperfect. It's a pain unrequited that which the enemy assumes would ultimately provide the strength of their conquest. But they are wrong. I _want_ to get hurt. I want them to maim me, break me, rattle me to the very bone and core so I can bring out the strongest side of me. I want to hurt them just as much as they did to us. I want them to feel the anguish of defeat and the sorrow of loved ones lost. I want to protect my precious peoples with this pain so that they may never experience the sight or sounds of death as I have.

I want to protect the woman I love with everything that I am. My partner, my Pair, my Sagitta, my friend, my potential future. I would trade away all that I had in life for her to see the next sunrise. I would even go as far as sacrificing myself to ensure her safety, because if the Sibylla Aurea were to die. . .

No. No! I won't allow it to happen! Even if time separated us unto our deathbeds, I would still go out of my way to find and protect her. I can't let Death's pale hand grace her just yet, not until we have lived out the rest of our days. Not until I've shown her the new world.

Everyone knows about it: politicians, priests, cadets, villagers. They heard of the legend of the two eternal maidens; they who were blessed by Tempus Spatium the gift of youth and became its Right Hand. It's believed that the new world lies outside our own reality, an alternate dimension where no one has to kill or die, no greed or power or countries, no possessions save the peace and love for each other.

To get there, a Pair must perform the Emerald Ri Maajon, an ancient prayer that has been said to have created the Earth, the Air, and the Cosmos. Though it's documented as the first and most powerful Ri Maajon, there are no records of anyone initiating it to its full extent. To alter the very fabrics of time and space is not something people are willing to do, much less see the outcome of such an offering. The fear of what would happen in the case that it failed and the insistence that it be used as a weapon drove a rift between the state and the church. What almost became taboo was labeled as a dangerous technique only to be used as a very desperate, very final last resort.

More or less, none dared to tread uncharted territory.

But isn't that what life's about? To strive into the unknown and make it known? To understand what is beyond our borders and what is within us? What layers the truth from the fiction that may very well be the fact of life?

We were put here for a reason. We were given the ability to think for ourselves and co-exist with a nature that both defends us and turns against us. We were shown the gateway to the galaxy and beyond, to universes untouched and dreams ready to be recognized. We were given so much, yet we know so little. We found life, lost life, discovered life, and took life, all in one blow.

Was this how we were meant to be? Is this the path Destiny has bestowed upon us? Whether it will lead us to paradise or oblivion, to war or peace, I want to keep going. I want to continue living so that I may realize my purpose in life. I want to give. I want to feel. I want to fight, breathe, and ultimately, love.

In the midst of a war where no one is spared a second chance, I will fly. I'll fly far beyond my expectations, far beyond the birds in the sky, far beyond what I know and see. Fate may hold me at unbreakable bonds; it may lead me astray from my inevitable road, but by Tempus Spatium I will challenge it to the very end!

Just take my hand, and let us go to the place where we shall become free. For it is not given, but earned.


End file.
